Yes folks, it's Christmas morning. Early. Some of you, I am sure, are already up, sitting on the lounge floor covered in reams of shredded Christmas paper with hypo-kids going ultra sonic and yelling for more batteries for this and for that. It's the way Christmas should be - noisy, chaotic, and real messy - a day when your kids will love you the most and only a week away from when you, in turn, will become the kid and kick up your heels on New Year's eve. Hopefully, by then, the kids would have had enough of all the festivities and have legged it to bed. Hopefully. As the saying goes "Well that's the plan, Stan."
For me, the lounge is already a graveyard of toiled gift paper, shredded from the explosive and somewhat manic exploits of Christmas morning that happened a mere few hours ago. Now it is as quiet as a mouse - I think we may have peaked too soon.
This year, I am happy to report not one single plastic ugly flea infested dinosaur looking 'thing' made its way into my present pile. Nor did any vampire paraphernalia or kid-sized Edward Cullen tee-shirts.
Something has happened to my child this year. Her gifts to me are no longer a mere extension of her own desires. It's the first year that I can truly look at what she has given me and know she had me in mind when she parted with her hard earned pocket money. In fact, I seriously doubt she likes anything she bought me and that just makes it even more special. Bless. Kid's eh?
Talking of special kids, I came across this story only a few minutes ago and I must admit, it really touched me. Sad to think there is a need for such fundraising but...well, there is.
"Rosie set up a stall near her home selling used books and products from their garden to support the 'nine-year-old west Auckland victim' who has recently been in the media." Girl, 9, raises $109 for abuse victim - national | Stuff.co.nz:
Good one you Rosie and on behalf of me and my family, may I wish all the children, especially those within violent homes ...
(ten minutes later)...
How do you wish children who suffer violence a merry Christmas especially when you know this time of the year is even worse for those kids? For them, this time of the year is when they start to think they're really weird. Excluded. Isolated. Alone...alienated. An alien. A monster no one wants to be around. Rotten fruit. Tainted. Second hand.
Logic, in a child's mind, says that they're responsible for the violence. They caused it. Whatever they're doing makes people react violently and so they internalise everything - put the actions of those sick adults back on themselves.
I can't stop the violence. I wish I could. I wish my fantasy would become real and I could fly above rooftops with a super-sonic internal crying detector and scoop down and beat the crap out of offenders...but I can't.
All I have is hope.
I hope that everyone of those children find something inside themselves, like an internal brick wall, that they can at least hide behind for a while. So that the words, the finger pointing, the name calling, the shit that eats into one's soul cannot, will not, get in and like a true butterfly, one day they will emerge: in full flight, radiant and proud - a true survivor.
That is what I hope for.
Merry Christmas little butterflies, merry Christmas.